Cover my eyes
Blindness
Stars and
Unidentified fuzzy objects
In the recesses of my mind
Coming towards me
With closed eyes

The pitter-patter
Of the rain
On my window pane
And Lana is singing melancholy
And my time is spent in sweet folly
Is it all pointless?
Or, what are the signs pointing to?
Is there no truth?

Dilapidated Brooklyn apartment
Me, just a toddler
Pressing down on my eyes with my palms
So I could see stars
Or, like I used to say,
To "watch movies in my brain"

Now, me, twenty two
No longer ignorant and
so much less blissful
Remembering
Where pressing palms on eyes
Can take me.